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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27425746">The Other Side of Despair</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weirdling_Joi/pseuds/Weirdling_Joi'>Weirdling_Joi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bringing Castiel Back One AU at a Time [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Angel Lore (Supernatural), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Character Death, Episode: s15e18 Despair, Fix-It, Gen, Grief/Mourning, No Slash, Platonic Soulmates, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel Fix-It, Wingfic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:07:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,882</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27425746</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weirdling_Joi/pseuds/Weirdling_Joi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck has won. The gates of heaven, hell, and purgatory are closed. Sam, Jack, and Dean have inherited an earth empty of anyone but themselves, and worse, they cannot even escape it in death. Dean finds that beneath his foundation of love exists an endless swamp of despair he keeps drowning in. </p><p>But there is hope.</p><p>And like Thursday's child, Dean will have a long way to go to secure it and make his family whole.</p><p>This an AU take on Season 15, Episode 18's "Despair."  It's time to save Cas again.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel &amp; Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bringing Castiel Back One AU at a Time [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/845460</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Loss</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I am borrowing from some of my previous angelic mythology, but this is a new story. It is only thematically linked to others in the series.</p><p>It is very rough. I hope to post a chapter and tweak it as I work on the next.</p><p>Also, please note the suicide tag. I do not wish to trigger anyone.</p><p>Finally, I am really horrible with details of the bunker. I'll do my best to correct them as I dive into more research into show details.</p><p>ETA: The lyrics are from "I'll Be There For You" by Bon Jovi. It was playing on the car radio when I took a pause from dictating my first draft into the my phone; I took it as a sign that I needed to revise the draft to include it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“At the temple there is a poem called "Loss" carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it.” (A<span class="authorOrTitle">rthur Golden, </span>Memoirs of a Geisha).</em>
</p><p>* * * </p><p>The first time Dean killed himself came after he finally picked the buzzing cell phone off the floor and answered it. To this day, he couldn't recall what Sam had said exactly. Something about checking on the town. He didn't know what he had said back. Yet somehow that conversation helped him find the energy to get up and drag himself into the Impala.</p><p>It was as if people had disappeared in the midst of their daily lives. At the gas stations, fuel dispensers rested in tank spouts, waiting for owners to reseat them. Snacks, candy bars, and soda lay scattered over the counter. Items littered the floor, where they had exploded out of handcarts when they had dropped. The cash register was open, and a receipt waited to be claimed.</p><p>The further he drove, the worst it got. Cars and trucks, absent their drivers, had crashed, smashed, and dove into ditches. It made navigating slow and difficult; it required attention he didn't seem to possess. His mind kept wandering back to darker places. Cold places. Empty places.</p><p>The town was not miraculously better. It was full of open doors, beeping microwaves, and screens frozen on still images. Lebanon had turned into a graveyard of buildings and possessions that didn't mean a damn thing in the end.</p><p>Dean sank down onto a pink carpet in a room set up for a tea party with a stuffed rabbit, Barbie dolls, and a raptor of all things. He reached over and righted the cup by the empty chair. Dean remembered texting "its here to," then he staggered back out to the car and drove home.</p><p>There was no plan behind the suicide. The idea didn't come to him in a flash of insight. He vaguely remembered turning off his phone. The buzzing was annoying. But when it came time to turn off the ignition, he couldn't. His fingers wrapped around the key and held there. He looked about him, out the window, looking, just looking about the garage, wanting to be anywhere but here in this vast world of nowhere. There was no where to drive to. As he was looking and not finding, his eye caught on something dark on his jacket sleeve. A handprint. Of blood. <em>Cas,</em> he thought. <em>The warding.</em> All of a sudden weariness hit him. His hand was too heavy; it slid off the keys. He was just going to sit there a while, until it passed, listening to hum of the engine and one of his tapes--when had he put it in? He didn't remember; just that he wanted to cover the heavy silence while he drove. Lyrics streamed out of the speakers, no longer just background noise. <em>"I guess this time you're really leaving / I heard your suitcase say goodbye / Well as my broken heart lies bleeding / You say true love is suicide."</em></p><p>He lost count of how many songs went by, how long he waited to find the energy to go fully inside.</p><p>Eventually, the world faded from mind, and he faded from the world. He died.</p><p>Then, he woke up outside, flat on his back, the light was fading or . . . growing. He had no idea of the time or what had happened. But Sam and Jack were kneeling over him, panic on their faces. He didn't really hear any of their words except: "Where's Cas?"</p><p>They had a talk later in the library.</p><p>"You weren't breathing, Dean. You were lucky carbon monoxide doesn't effect me." Jack shifted in his seat, leaning closer over the table, to stare him in the eyes. "Don't you know you're not supposed to run a vehicle in a closed room?"</p><p>Dean lifted his head from the untouched beer and finally looked, really looked at Jack. "You--" <em>Grabbed me out? Saved me? Brought me back to life? </em>"I didn't think you had any juice left."</p><p>A hand was slammed down on the table, making the beer shudder. Sam loomed over him and growled, "What the hell, Dean? Did you want to die?"</p><p>Yes. No. "Does it matter?"</p><p>There was silence.</p><p>It didn't last. They argued, yelled, pleaded with him. They even briefly tried to work out why it hadn't taken, what Chuck had done to him--them. Dean just stared at the condensation sliding down the neck of the bottle, thinking, <em>It should matter.</em></p><p>
  <em>I should care. </em>
</p><p><em>"You are the most caring man on Earth" </em>flicked through his mind.<em> "Most caring, most caring, most caring--" </em>He sat up, brow scrunching. <em>"Most caring, most caring, most--"</em></p><p>"Where's Cas?" Sam tried again. "I can't reach him--"</p><p>"I forgot."</p><p>"Forgot what? Forgot where Cas is?" There was a knife sharp edge in his voice, but his body spoke of exhaustion. </p><p>Exhaustion he understood.</p><p>It was why he kept forgetting.</p><p>The lines smoothed on Sam's face. "Forget what, Dean?"</p><p>"What came after . . . " <em>Most caring . . .</em> What had come after that? There was more before the bubbling black, oily mass reached out and swallowed Death and Cas, leaving him alone, forever this time. A lot had happened in that room; these were the things he should hold onto.</p><p>But he couldn't. </p><p>They slipped from his fingers; his grip was too weak.</p><p>"I dunno," he said at last. "I forgot."</p><p>That answer didn't go over well.</p><p>Afterwards he was never left alone during the day for longer than it took to piss, and his room seemed several guns and knives short of being recognizable as home.</p><p>But it had been the truth. Dean hadn't intended to kill himself. He hadn't planned on dying then. He didn't remember thinking about it. He just hadn't found the energy to stop it.</p><p>Didn't seem to matter. God wasn't going to let him die anyway.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Rasure</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>11/7/20 Edits: I have a sort of spatial aphasia or something; I never did pay much attention to location details, and that usually bites me in the tuchus with fanfic. After I did some research, I realized what I was calling the storeroom is probably the dungeon, so I'm revising that.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div class="ujudUb">
  <p>
    <em>These wounds won't seem to heal, this pain is just too real / There's just too much that time cannot erase (Evanescence, My Immortal)</em>
  </p>
</div><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>The second suicide came after they cornered Dean to share their grand plan. They needed him. It was something about Michael, something about powering up Jack.</p><p>How they found the energy to keep plotting, keep fighting the lost fight, he didn't know. For Dean couldn't think past getting the next bottle of beer or rewinding a tape in his player. Sometimes he sat there on his bed, staring down at the silent device in his hand, or he stood there in the kitchen, the cold air dancing along arms as he stared at the open fridge. But for the life of him, he couldn't remember how he got there or what he wanted to do or what he had been thinking just a moment before. He would wander off, his mind looping around some scattered pieces of memory. <em>"You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know." </em>Or<em> "Ever since we met, ever since I pulled you out of hell, knowing you has changed me." </em></p><p>Sometimes other words snuck in, tangled up, bled through.</p><p>
  <em>"Nobody cares that you're broken, Cas."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Dean, I thought I was doing the right thing." "Yeah, you always do."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"The plan changed, Dean. Something went wrong. You know this. Something always goes wrong." "Yeah, why does that something always seem to be you?"</em>
</p><p>All the regrets tangled up with all the good, like one of those strange musical mashups he couldn't stand. That wrecked perfectly good songs. These words, exchanged between him and Cas, haunted him. They had a life of their own; they pulsed through his head at the oddest times. They trapped him in the dark dungeon with his heart sinking and the inevitability bubbling on the wall. Rarely could he fight his way through to the happy moments. It was as if they had been swallowed up, leaving him with a few scraps to gnaw on, <em>"Knowing you, it... it’s been the best part of my life"</em> and <em>"You’re my family." </em> </p><p>Sometimes he couldn't even find that much; the room in his mind would be blank and quiet.</p><p>Sometimes he thought of changing them, but he held back for fear of confusing them, destroying them, losing them.</p><p>Other times, he realized who he was, where he was. Sometimes he remembered the others around him. Others who needed and wanted something from him.</p><p>Unfortunately, this day was one of his better moments. </p><p>Dean stared into Jack's eager face; they were in the library, standing beside a book-strewn table. He had to sit in the nearest, empty chair before he had enough spare energy to respond to all that . . . hope. But his own words were far from hopeful.  "You--you don't have enough juice on your own to wake him up in the Empty?'</p><p>Jack exchanged glances with Sam. Then he cleared his throat. Fidgeted with a bit of paper he held in his hands. "No. I--I--I've been trying, but--" He looked down at the scrap of scribbles. "We are working on this spell--"</p><p>"No, no, I remember." Dean scrubbed his face. "With Michael's what, grace, you can wake him up in the Empty? Why don't you just steal it from the dicks upstairs? Wouldn't that be safer? Easier?"</p><p>"They're not responding, Dean," Sam said. "Remember? We tried."</p><p>They had tried, they meant. Dean sure as hell didn't remember doing much of anything lately except escaping from . . . or retreating into . . . that dungeon, the one in his mind (he couldn't enter the real one). The one in his mind was the only one that mattered; it held all the memories, memories that were missing pieces, memories that he couldn't keep in any order, memories that were falling apart the more he touched them. Who knew how long he had been going on that way, lost in his own world.</p><p>Too long.</p><p>Dean blinked about this room now, seeing it as for the first time, before focusing at last on the objects nearest him on the table. He recognized his bottle next to a stack of books that remained unopened before him. His family hovered next to two other chairs, and there was research. A lot of research paused in various states of being read or written. A fourth chair remained tucked close to the table. Empty. <em>"And I did it, all of it, for you."</em>  Dean's gaze darted away, and he swallowed hard.</p><p>"Dean?"</p><p>To distract himself, he flipped the cover of the top book on his stack. It was about angel summoning. He remembered now; they had wanted him to read these. They wanted him to help. To participate. But he hadn't. Because the words swam out of his head, and just turning the pages was so fatiguing.</p><p>Today, though, <em>now,</em> though, he was doing better at tracking their conversation and making things stick in place. "Sure. Sure. Summon angels. Dead air. No one left to care." <em>"I cared about the whole world because of you."</em></p><p>The pages of his book were stained from gasoline, making the ink resemble old, dried, splattered blood, but in black.</p><p>Dean flipped the cover shut, his fingers trembling. He grabbed his beer, and nearly choked on the swallow. He wiped his mouth off with he back of his hand. It seemed to be steadier. The old familiar taste gave strength to his voice, too, as he asked, "You woke Cas before, Jack. You're going to wake him up first, right?"</p><p>Another long pause.</p><p>Then Jack got up and stood beside him, nervously. "I--I can try. But we need to wake up enough of the others, so we can fight--" He tried to hand over the paper.</p><p>Yes, yes, fight Chuck. Restore the world. He remembered. Dean waved that distraction off. "But you can get Cas? He said 'forever.'  He was stuck there forever."</p><p>They closed ranks around him. Wanted him to tell them more. What else had Cas said? What had happened? It might be important. Share, share, share.</p><p>Their eagerness was salt and lighter fluid to the memories, and he already had a hard enough time assembling them, prying them free from that dark dungeon where they were born, where his memories kept slinking off to die. Lyrics would distract him. Or the chill caress of the open refrigerator door. Or the feel of his jacket under his fingers.</p><p>They let it go. This was one ghost he'd not let them burn.</p><p>But they needed him to step up now. Cas did.</p><p>This time, they trusted him with an angel blade. With a spray paint can. With the plan. Trap Michael. Use his powers. Rip a doorway into the Shadow's home. Recruit an army.</p><p>But he didn't remember the warding he was supposed to use. <em>(He could remember the one Cas drew on the door.)</em></p><p>He couldn't remember the words to the spell to help Sam. <em>(He could remember Cas's final goodbye.)</em></p><p>He didn't remember the details of the game plan when Michael arrived. <em>(He remembered how Cas looked after the last throwdown with his big brother.)</em></p><p>He did remember their hopes going up in black smoke.</p><p>He did remember Chuck popping in to thank them for revealing his "last traitorous son." Laughing in their faces before he took off again.</p><p>He did remember them deciding to head home to "regroup."</p><p>He didn't drive Baby. Sam didn't ask. Dean didn't care. He sat in the back, and the seat felt like the cold press of the dungeon wall, and the music and conversation sounded like some blackness bubbling into life.</p><p>Dean didn't remember most of the trip, but he did remember them stopping at the gas station, where the food was starting to go bad. Things rotting. More of the world fading away beyond their grasp. He stayed outside where he could breathe. A memory chased him over the concrete. <em>"I failed at being an angel. Everything I ever attempted came out wrong."</em> There was no reprieve by the pumps. <em>"But here … at least I have a shot at getting things right."</em> The past followed him to a van, whose driver's side door hung open, the inside silent and long dark and empty save for the trash and treasures they had left behind. <em>"I guess you can't see it, but … there's a real dignity in what I do – human dignity."</em> In spinning away, he kicked over a purse.</p><p>A pill bottle rolled out; its discordant note slipped through his head, as it rattled to a stop.</p><p>Then the memories raced on, unimpeded, down an new, old track.</p><p>
  <em>" I – I – I can't go back."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"'Cause if you do, the angels will kill you."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Because if I see what Heaven's become – what I – what I made of it... I'm afraid I might kill myself."</em>
</p><p>Dean didn't remember picking the pill bottle up, but later, he found himself rolling it back and forth across a denim-clad thigh, his legs stretched out before him, a beer in the hand, and headphones on his ears.</p><p>The pill bottle was empty; nothing in it disrupted the harmony of memories' endless track.</p><p>
  <em>"And at best, I die trying to fix my own stupid mistake. Or... I don't die – I'm brought back again. I see now. It's a punishment, resurrection. It's worse every time."</em>
</p><p>Dean took a deep drink of his beer in salute to that. Then he tilted his head back and listened as some lyrics caught his attention. <em>"I know you know we've had some good times / Now they have their own hiding place / Well I can promise you tomorrow / But I can't buy back yesterday."</em></p><p>He would have drunk another salute to that, if he could have lifted his hand by that point. Or moved his head.</p><p>This suicide, Dean had to admit, was a little more intentional.</p><p>He had not a thing to tell Sam later. In the end, it was Jack who helped him into the bathroom to wash away the vomit that had emerged as he woke up from the nothingness. Sam couldn't stand to be near him for days.</p><p>They might be able to lock the bunker down tight, but they couldn't lock down the world. That didn't mean his family stopped trying. That didn't mean he bothered wasting his time on the same pipe dream.</p><p>They couldn't die.</p><p>Chuck would never let them.</p><p>At least, he had his memories. At least there, he could . . . sometimes . . . pretend his life was his own. He could . . . sometimes  . . . rewrite his own story, say all the things he had meant to say, do all the things she should have done, be all the things she should be. Sometimes. More often, that world was fragmenting, decaying, dimming, dying a little every day, faster than the one they had inherited. When the memories were gone, what was left?</p><p>Who would he be then?</p><p>Would anyone be left to care?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Not much more in that vein, I promise. Soon some real hope will come into play, and that will change everything. Please bear with me.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Empire of Dirt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>What have I become  / My sweetest friend? / Everyone I know / Goes away in the end // And you could have it all / My empire of dirt / I will let you down / I will make you hurt (Johnny Cash, Hurt)</em>
</p><p> </p><p>When you are the last people on Earth, you have all the time in the world for anything. Drinking. Raging. Begging. Crying. Despairing. Researching. Coming up with a Hail Mary of a spell.</p><p>It was all laid out on the library table in neat, precise rows. Sam explained their latest plan and tried to show him his research. Jack kept fidgeting with the ingredients, trying to get everything to line up perfectly. Not the chains though. When Sam was done talking, Dean found himself tracing his fingertip along the metal links, remembering another time these shackles were necessary. Back when Attack Dog spells were a thing, and his best friend was going crazy.</p><p>When his best friend was dying.</p><p>Again.</p><p><em>“I blacked out for a lot of it. It overwhelmed me. I-I couldn't control it.</em>”</p><p>Cas hadn’t been the only one overwhelmed. His heart had sunk when he had learned Cas was gone, chains broken. They had been so close, and then this. Every blow that rained down on him in the warehouse Dean had coming.</p><p>They had hurt, but it was nothing compared to seeing the redlines of failure blazing in Cas’s mad eyes.</p><p>And that had been nothing compared to the slick black bubbling on the dungeon wall.</p><p>Dean shook his head to clear it and stepped away from the chair. </p><p>"We just need something to bind the spell to Cas," Sam said. "Something of his, of him." </p><p>Dean's mind darted away to the closet, the jacket hanging on a hook, the bloody handprint.</p><p>Of course, they knew about that.</p><p>But did they know what they were asking?</p><p>It was more than a jacket.</p><p>According to Sam, this spell would rip his soul away, toss him into a place humans weren't meant to go, and surround him with enemies. Nothing about it would be pleasant. Typical Winchester joy ride of late. But none of it compared to what they were really asking him. They were wanting him to hope.</p><p>Dean had learned about all the ways to take a person apart, inside and out. In hell, he became a master with the knife, at reading tells, at digging in and conquering ground, at breaking people, things down.</p><p>He knew the sharpest, most effective weapon of all.</p><p>Hope.</p><p>People would use it to tear themselves apart at the seams.</p><p>Sam and Jack were doing that right now, before his eyes.</p><p>It was easier to focus on some of the details than see that. It was easier than looking into his brother's eyes and seeing a form of his own tiredness reflected back there. It was easier than disrupting this OCD Jack had developed while Dean was away doing nothing. It was easier than daring to care.</p><p>"Are--?" His voice came as a rasp. Dean couldn't even remember the last time he had spoken aloud. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Are you sure this is everything?" He picked up a jar of green powder. "I didn't think this was in Henry's spell."</p><p>"It's from ectoplasm, like in the apportation spell Magnus used to push me outside his house," Sam explained.</p><p>Dean moved on, past the little dish of feathers, to a golden cord coiled up like a snake. Dean picked it up out of its bowl. "Atropos," he recalled. Not hard to forget Balthazar's hate-on for "My Heart Will Go On," and all the souls that shouldn't be snuffed out once more. "Fate's little calling card."</p><p>"Clotho's. Lachesis hasn't bound it to a life yet, and Atropos hasn't cut it." Sam again. </p><p>Jack had stopped fidgeting, but he wasn't speaking yet. </p><p>"Untapped fate . . . ?" Dean asked. "That's some powerful stuff. Clothy just handed it over to you?"</p><p>"We found it, when we summoned her," Sam said. Three words that would normally scare the shit out of him. "Or rather, when we tried to summon her." When had</p><p>Sam and Jack done that? What would he have done if he had woken up and found them gone as well? What would he do if he found himself completely, utterly alone? With a shudder, Dean dropped the cord. It lay half in, half out of its bowl.</p><p>Sam was still speaking, "We think Chuck has taken out any sentient beings. Angels, demons, gods, monsters, the dead in heaven and hell. As far as we can tell, they are all gone."</p><p>"So anything smarter than Curious George snapped out of existence." <em>“Monkeys are so... clever, and they're sensible in that they leave the skins on the bananas that they eat.”</em> "And she just happened to leave this lying around for us to find?" </p><p>"We think Amara is still there and playing on our side."</p><p>Amara. Right. Why would she care about bringing back Cas? She had never cared for Cas. He had suffered alongside Lucifer back in the day, when she was still fighting against them, when she was more than willing to torture Chuck's "children" to find a way to hurt her brother. When she was more than willing to use Cas a flesh and blood text message.</p><p>But then again, this wasn't supposed to be just about Cas, was it?</p><p>Sam and Jack were stuck on that same plan, just a different angle . . . a different way for it to blow up in their faces, a different way for it slice themselves up inside when they failed.  </p><p>Dean could feel Sam's gaze on him. Waiting for something. </p><p>Maybe to confirm that Amara was on their side, through his connection to her. </p><p>In truth, all he felt of late was a vast swell of nothing. </p><p>Par for course, lately.</p><p>Dean fidgeted the dish that held the feathers, not quite able to bring himself to touch them. He wondered what color Cas’s feathers were. White like these?</p><p>"So, one parts Magnus's apportation spell, Blood Sigil, and . . . " His gaze dropped to the cord Jack had tidied up, rewinding and returning to the bowl. </p><p>"Witness of Ages," Sam said.</p><p>That was a new one.  </p><p>"Mix well with some Winchester modifications. This . . . this, plus a helping hand from Jack, is going to sneak me--my soul--in the back door of Empty to Cas, where together we wake up some other angels, sit down in a circle, and Dr. Phil it out." </p><p>Sam tried to hand him the list of names. "That's why we are picking out ones that will be more willing to work with us. They can bring around the others we need."</p><p>They could wrangle up the entire stock of them, and it wouldn't make a difference. </p><p>Didn't they get it? Chuck knew everything. He might not be able to peek into the Empty, but did Sam and Jack really think they weren't under his magnifying glass right now? What else would he focus on, with his cosmic cable cut down to one channel? The Winchester Specials were the only thing on, but Chuck would never cancel this s**tshow.</p><p>Why wasn't Chuck tired of it?</p><p>He knew he was.</p><p>"Dean, it's the best chance we have."</p><p>Dean looked up. Even Jack was watching him, biting his lips, biting back his words.</p><p>"You have the best shot at it. Jack's needed here to pull you back out if it goes badly. And I--your . . . connection with Cas was always stronger."</p><p>Was it?</p><p>If so, it was never enough to change anything.</p><p>Nothing ever was.</p><p>Dean knew how this would end. As soon as they emerged from the Empty, the moment they thought they really had a chance, Chuck would turn the lens on the flock and fry their hopes. </p><p>Their hopes would go up in smoke.</p><p>But would Cas?</p><p>That was the important question.</p><p>Cas might disappear forever this time.</p><p>Dean ran his thumb along the rim of the feather bowl. If that happened, well, third time was the charm, or so they said.</p><p>"You said you needed something of Cas's," Dean said. It was so easy to claim he didn't have anything like that. They wouldn't fight him on the lie. They'd go back to the books and try to find a different way.</p><p>Until they too ended up where Dean was, just a little faster than they wanted. But it was only place they could go.</p><p>“<em>That's one deep, dark nothing you got there, Dean. Can't fill it, can you? Not with food or drink. Not even with sex,”</em> someone who knew a thing or two about gnawing emptiness had told him years ago. <em>“I can see how broken you are, how defeated. You can't win, and you know it. But you just keep fighting. Just... keep going through the motions. You're not hungry, Dean, because inside, you're already...dead.”</em></p><p>Dean let his finger brush, just brush the softness of a white feather.</p><p>He couldn’t muster up a proper fight anymore.</p><p>Yet . . . <em>“You are not the burnt and broken shell of a man that I believed you to be.”</em></p><p>Fighting required faith in something.</p><p>
  <em>“This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith.”</em>
</p><p>But that wasn’t true; he had faith . . . just not in himself.</p><p>That part had gone, though. Disappeared into the Empty. Yet Cas had believed utterly in the words . . . <em>“You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are.</em>” So utterly, that he hadn't gone until they were said. <em>Fought for love.</em></p><p>Jack and Sam were fighting for the world as much as they were for him, for Cas. Dean didn't have the energy for that anymore, didn't have enough of him left for that. But maybe there something left, just enough he could tap for one last fight.</p><p>For Cas.</p><p>To make their family whole again.</p><p>"Yeah. Something of Cas’s, right?” Dean dropped his hand. "I think I might have something for that."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Miles to Go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>The woods are lovely, dark and deep, / But I have promises to keep, / And miles to go before I sleep, / And miles to go before I sleep. (Robert Frost, "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening")</em>
</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p><br/>The journey to the Empty did not happen in a flash. Purgatory, heaven, hell, angel express--one moment you were <em>here,</em> then you were <em>there,</em> with a jarring sense of dislocation in between. Dean didn't remember the journey or the moment he left his body in any of those cases.</p><p>This time, it was different.</p><p>He was awake for every moment of it.</p><p>It involved falling.</p><p>And falling.</p><p>And falling.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Something was wrong. He shouldn't still be </p><p> </p><p>F</p><p>    A</p><p>   L</p><p> L</p><p>   I</p><p>N</p><p>  G</p><p>like this.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>Maybe the chains were to blame. Sam had been a busy boy, updating them with a few new charms. Dean didn't complain--even though Sammy apologized for strapping him into the chair--because not even Dean thought anyone should take the risk on his soulless self running about. (Sam had promised that his body wouldn't be awake at all during his little soul journey. They promised to watch over him. And it didn't hurt to take precautions; who knew what might try to hitch a ride out of Empty along with him. Maybe the extra warding would help.) </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>F</p><p>    A</p><p>   L</p><p> L</p><p>   I</p><p>N</p><p>  G</p><p> </p><p><br/>Then there was Jack, shoulders pinched in, unable to meet his eye. Forgive Dean for being reminded of the time Jack channeled his adoptive father's angst--<em>"every time I try and do something good, people get hurt"</em>--and tossed them like sock puppets across the room. (Not the only one, kid, who still feels that way. It seems to be the Winchester way of late.) Jack raised his glowing hand as if he were saying goodbye.</p><p> </p><p>F</p><p>    A</p><p>   L</p><p> L</p><p>   I</p><p>N</p><p>  G</p><p> </p><p><br/>It could be the bracelet itself. When Sam had knotted it about his left wrist, Dean had thought the golden color corrupted from being marinated in the spell ingredients. Rather, it was only waiting for the right moment. It blazed brighter than Jack's sendoff. And then . . .  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>F</p><p>    A</p><p>   L</p><p> L</p><p>   I</p><p>N</p><p>  G</p><p> </p><p><br/>Maybe it was just this . . . place. This . . . thing . . . this . . . existence . . . was the reward of all the angels, good or bad? Judging by this, their actions never mattered in the long run. They were just used up and tossed away, all the same.</p><p>No wonder why The Shadow kept everyone asleep. There would be nothing but screaming otherwise.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>F</p><p>    A</p><p>   L</p><p> L</p><p>   I</p><p>N</p><p>  G</p><p> </p><p><br/>Falling in a directionless void.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Falling without moving.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Falling seemingly forever, in a vast well of nothing, marked only by the golden hue on his wrist, brightest at the knot, and the burning desire to reach out to the one he was sent here to save.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p>He couldn't.</p><p>Couldn't.</p><p>So he twisted. He turned. He wrenched. He clawed. He fought.</p><p>There was nothing he could do but </p><p>F</p><p>    A</p><p>   L</p><p> L</p><p> * * *</p><p>
  <em>"You'll have to be careful," Sam had warned him for the umpteenth time. "We don't know much about The Shadow." He looked at Jack, who ducked his head. "We know it's sensitive to noise. So no matter what happens, don't scream. Don't even pray. It might hear it."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Me, quiet. Got it." He mimed zipping his lip. "Piece of cake."</em>
</p><p>But what about light?  he should have asked. Is it sensitive to that too?</p><p>But there had been no light . . . then.</p><p> </p><p>F</p><p>    A</p><p>   L</p><p> L</p><p>   I</p><p>N</p><p>  G</p><p> </p><p>
  <br/>
  <em>"How am I supposed to wake anything, if I'm supposed to be all hush-hush?" he asked, as the cuffs snapped close around his wrists. "Pantomime?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"The bracelet should shield your presence, but we don't know how long it will last. Don't let anything happen to the bracelet."</em>
</p><p>His life line. And Cas's.</p><p> </p><p>F</p><p>    A</p><p>   L</p><p> L</p><p>   I</p><p>N</p><p>  G</p><p> </p><p>
  <br/>
  <em>"So it's like a ripcord on a parachute. I pull this, and I get yanked back?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Right. So don't break it unless you have everyone ready."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dean stopped picking at the sticky mess on his wrist, treating it instead like live grenade it was, one he really should stop spinning on his finger.</em>
</p><p>Yet except for the glow, it was turning out to be a dud.</p><p> </p><p>F</p><p>    A</p><p>   L</p><p> L</p><p>   I</p><p>N</p><p>  G</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"This will take me right away to Cas?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Yes."</em>
</p><p>No.</p><p>F</p><p>    A</p><p>   L</p><p> L</p><p>   I</p><p>N</p><p>  G</p><p>
  <br/>
  <em>"See you soon, Dean."</em>
</p><p>He'd never see anything again.</p><p> </p><p>F</p><p>    A</p><p>   L</p><p> L</p><p>   I</p><p>N</p><p>  G</p><p> </p><p>There was no Cas. There was nothing. If not for the light, he'd doubt there was even a him. There had been no transition from his body to this place, because truth was, this emptiness, it was everywhere.</p><p>It lay beneath everything.</p><p>It was everything.</p><p> </p><p>F</p><p>    A</p><p>   L</p><p> L</p><p>   I</p><p>N</p><p>  G</p><p> </p><p>No. No, something must have gone wrong.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>F</p><p>    A</p><p>   L</p><p> L</p><p>   I</p><p>N</p><p>  G</p><p> </p><p>No matter how big this place, Cas was in here somewhere. He should be getting close to Cas.</p><p> </p><p>F</p><p>    A</p><p>   L</p><p> L</p><p>   I</p><p>N</p><p>  G</p><p> </p><p><br/>Unless it wasn't going to work. Of course, why would it work? Nothing else in the end had.</p><p>There was nothing he could do about it unless . . . He reached out and touched the knot on the bracelet.</p><p>It hummed in response, waiting his decision.</p><p>His hand fell away.</p><p>The light dimmed.</p><p>The humming softened.</p><p>F</p><p>    A</p><p>   L</p><p> L</p><p>   I</p><p>N</p><p>  G</p><p> </p><p>F</p><p>    A</p><p>   L</p><p> L</p><p>   I</p><p>N</p><p>  G</p><p> </p><p>F</p><p>    A</p><p>   L</p><p> L</p><p>   I</p><p>N</p><p>  G</p><p> </p><p>The bracelet flared as something immense slid near and caught him. Despite the light, Dean couldn't actually see it. Though every sense he had screamed it was there. The Shadow.</p><p><strong>What is this?</strong> came the whisper in the void. It slithered through his very being, questing.  </p><p>This was no bubbling, oily slick.</p><p>This was nothing his mind could grasp.</p><p>This was nothing he could fight.</p><p>Just a pocket of seething nothingness, wrapping all through him, in ways that not even Michael had touched.  </p><p>There was something worse than falling, it seemed.</p><p><strong>I remember you. You are his human.</strong> The presence surged all around him, through him, drowning him in itself.<strong> You don't belong here.</strong> <strong>You are nothing.</strong> As it smothered the golden glow of the bracelet, the light guttered, and a whining, ringing sound rang out. </p><p>The presence flinched back.</p><p>Then hissed louder than before: <strong>No! You can't have him. He's mine.</strong></p><p>It welled back, worse than before. Bits of him he didn't know existing were swallowed the by darkness deeper than any shadow.</p><p>Just before it snuffed him out, Dean broke his silence at last, reaching out to the one he always reached to when all things were lost.</p><p>
  <em>Cas!</em>
</p><p>The bracelet screeched into its own blinding brightness.</p><p>* * *</p><p>One moment, Dean had been drowning, then he was burning in the light, and the next, he was face planted on the ground. A massive headache rang in his skull. Or maybe that was the bracelet, pulsing, whining. </p><p>Turned out there was a bottom. He had just slammed into it, and it felt like every bone in his body had turned to jelly.</p><p>But something was different. His fingers twitched. He could feel a difference. His fingers dug in. A presence, something good . . . When Dean lifted his head, he saw something tan in the dark. It brightened his world better than any bracelet.</p><p>Dean scrambled at the ground, dragging himself an inch closer. </p><p>* * *</p><p>The Shadow was waiting for him, dogging his every step. <strong>You won't succeed.</strong></p><p>Dean dug his fingers in and pulled himself closer.</p><p>
  <strong>You couldn't save him then.</strong>
</p><p>Closer.</p><p><strong>What makes you think you can do anything for him in my domain?</strong> </p><p>Closer.</p><p><strong>You can't even perceive a tenth of my true self. What makes you think you know anything of what he truly is?</strong> It plucked a memory out of his skull and threw it at him.<em> "Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong." </em><strong>You will break what you can't see.</strong> </p><p>Just as he was within touching distance of Cas, the Shadow bubbled around him.</p><p><strong>You know I am right.</strong> It curved and looped about them in a ring, no longer something as mind-breaking as its home or its presence earlier. Its fraction of its true self. <strong>You think you are saving him, but you are not.</strong> <em>"The very touch of you corrupts. When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell he was lost!"  </em><strong>I see inside you; you will only destroy him.</strong></p><p>Dean hesitated, his hand freezing in place above Cas's face.</p><p>Before the echo of the memory faded, the Shadow surged closer him, demanding, <strong>Look at him.</strong> <em>"Dean. Just look at it. Really look at it. "</em> <strong>He is better off here. <em>"</em></strong><em>It's where I belonged."</em> <strong>Neither Heaven, nor your world, nor penance ever helped him. When has he ever looked so peaceful but here?</strong></p><p>Dean's gaze dropped to the face waiting an inch from his hand. He'd seen Cas knocked out and asleep. Even then, tension remained in the furrow of his brow, in the pinch of his mouth; Cas wore tiredness like an old trench coat he couldn't let go. It was a part of him. </p><p>There was none of that now. There was a lightness in the lines of his body. A relaxation. The weariness was gone. Dean had never seen Cas like this before. This,<em> this</em> was what Cas looked like without the weight of the world on his shoulders. Dean's fingers drew into a fist.</p><p>The Shadow wasn't done, though. It sloshed closer, whispering this time. <strong>Do you even know what would make him happy?</strong><strong>It was to not fail you.</strong> <em>"I didn't mean to add to your distress. I – Dean, I just keep failing. Again and again."</em><strong>It was making everything better <em>for</em> you. "</strong><em>And I just wanted , I needed to come back here with a win for you. For myself."</em><strong> He could never give you that. </strong>"<em>Something went wrong. You know this. Something always goes wrong." "Yeah, why does that something always seem to be you?"</em><strong> You could never give him that. But <em>I</em> can give <em>him</em> that. </strong><em>"What is so worth saving? I see nothing but pain here."</em> <strong>There is no pain when he sleeps in me.</strong> <em>"I see inside you. I see your guilt, your anger, confusion."</em> <strong>No doubt. No fear.</strong> <em>"In paradise, all is forgiven. You'll be at peace."</em>  <strong>I am peace.</strong> </p><p>It purred around Dean, stoking up memory's echo as it circled. <strong>There is nothing here for him to make up for. </strong><em>"In paradise, all is forgiven."</em><strong> Nothing to fail. </strong><em>"All is forgiven."</em><strong> Here, he dreams he has succeeded at last. </strong><em>"Forgiven." </em><strong>One touch from you</strong><strong>, and that all goes away. Let him be happy, Dean. He is better off with me.</strong></p><p>
  <strong>With me.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>With me.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>With me. </strong>
</p><p>That might be true, but if the Shadow thought it could appeal to his better side, it was wrong. Dean didn't have a better side, not without his family.</p><p>Dean cupped Cas's face in his hands and begged, "Cas, I'm here. Please, wake up."</p><p>The brow creased.</p><p>The eyelashes fluttered.</p><p>Something whispered back, <em>Dean.</em></p><p>The place itself seemed to scream, <strong>NOOOOO!,</strong> as the light around Dean's wrist bloomed around them both.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. There's No Place Like Hell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After 40 years in hell, Dean recognized the place like an amputee still felt a missing limb. Hell was the place where they sliced, diced, and carved him up on a daily basis. The experience had left these holes in his soul he still felt today. They ached like a broken bone, only instead of warning him about foul weather, they foretold more loss to come. Hell, in all its red, sulfurous glory, was ingrained in him.</p>
<p>Dean was more than a little surprised that he was there again. To go from a great big well of emptiness to a honeycombed pit of fire and stink and pain was too much for the senses at first. It took a moment for details to seep in through the hellfire's afterimages. It was as if his eyes and ears were linked. Once the one worked, he couldn't stop hearing the constant background chorus. The ever-present screams and whimpers and mad laughter and begging weren't just echoes from distant torture chambers. There was a rack at his side. The weight of a blade in his hand drew his gaze down. It was dripping.</p>
<p>People didn't have bodies down here, not generally. They had souls, but their souls had memories of bodies. So it was "blood" that covered him to the elbows, that squelched beneath his shoes, that dripped from his blade.</p>
<p>He remembered this. He used to be this. Alistair’s prize pupil. Dean stared at the whimpering woman stretched out on the rack, her insides spewing out of her like a blooming onion. In this moment, staring down at her, he felt like he was still Alistair’s.</p>
<p>The blade fell from his nerveless fingers. "What the hell?"</p>
<p>A sudden boom shook him, and the overhang of stone--like some massive, jagged teeth--high overhead juddered. Dean flinched and ducked as some debris fell, but not before it lanced a line pain open on his skull. He pressed a hand against the bleeding as he turned. <em>That's going to need stitches,</em> he thought. Then laughed. The only stitches he had ever borne in hell were those used to seal the eyes and mouth shut. Another boom and shudder tripped him. He fell to his knees on the craggy floor, that no matter how slimy, could still be razor sharp. He snatched back up his blade, ready to fight it out.</p>
<p>That was when he saw it.</p>
<p>Something big, bright, and multi-winged fluttered above the maw-like entrance above his chamber. Dean lifted his left arm to shield his eyes from its glare.</p>
<p>That was when he noticed the bracelet on his arm. The bracelet Sam had tied. It was glowing, and the knot had disappeared. Now the spelled thread formed a smooth, seamless loop.</p>
<p>As freaky as that was, the bracelet didn't hold his attention long. His gaze flicked back to hovering bluish-white light.</p>
<p>It had come closer, now floating within the open, broken dome of his cell. Another one hovered further back, outside the teeth of the roof, but its attention was focused elsewhere. No doubt on the attack surging its way. A roiling black mass struck it, and the tangled mass tumbled down, spitting flaming bits of light and blackness before it passed out of sight. The resultant thud made the ground tremble.</p>
<p>The other light paid it no need. It darted a little closer.</p>
<p>The color, the feathers . . . An angel?</p>
<p>His heart thudded. <em>Cas?</em></p>
<p>Before he could call out, the figure--the angel--Cas--was blindsided by another seething comet of black smoke. A demon.</p>
<p>Their joined forms twisted, slashed, hacked, and fought for supremacy as they too tumbled to the ground.</p>
<p>Dean ran toward them.</p>
<p>They thudded to the ground feet away.</p>
<p>The impact was a shockwave, knocking him flat on his ass. By the time his head stopped ringing and the world stilled, the fight was over. The pair lay in a heap on the blood-stained ground.</p>
<p>Dean sucked in his breath. His fingers ached where they clenched his knife's handle. <em>Please, don't.</em></p>
<p>Then there was a twitch.</p>
<p><em>Thank --</em> his mind glitched on the familiar prayer.</p>
<p>Dean clambered back to his feet and ran for them, calling out, "Cas!" He skidded to a stop before the pile of wings and layers of demon. He flipped the blade in his hand, ready to stab down, as he reached for the black smoke. Grab and stab, was the plan.</p>
<p>The minute he touched it, he knew there was no need.</p>
<p>The thing was slashed to hell. He could see a shifting mass of brightness through the weeping gashes.</p>
<p>In hell, in their natural form, demons weighed a lot, had real substance. They could change that if they wanted, if it made torture more interesting.</p>
<p>This one felt like dead weight.</p>
<p>"Hold on." Dean gripped the demon awkwardly, one hand preoccupied, and he gave it a tug.</p>
<p>It ripped along the slashes like melted cheese pulling apart. Tendrils popped like fat in fire as its form tore apart. Dean lurched back at the sudden release, and he accidentally gashed his hand open on the serrated blade. In disgust, he dragged the section of blubbery smoke onto the ground. Then, he stopped to wipe the blood seeping into his eye. Blinking rapidly despite the sting, he dove back in, hacking and slashing to make the dead demon more manageable. Under his breath, he kept muttering, "Hold on, hold on, hold on."</p>
<p>His hands were stained with black soot and sticky ichor by the time he tore the second piece off.</p>
<p>Cas, who must have been stunned, did more than twitch this time. With a sudden unfurling, he scattered the remaining pieces. Dean ducked, and they sailed through the air before landing several feet away with squishy splats. </p>
<p>With a great, dog-like shake, the multi-winged form slung mingled "blood"--grace--and muck everywhere, making Dean raise up shielding arms and mutter a "f**k" beneath his breath. "Take it easy there, Cas. I'm standing in the splash zone."</p>
<p>When he lowered his hands and straightened up, it--this form of Cas--loomed over him, heaving. He was all light and feathers. As far as he could tell there was no head, just six wings branching off a tear-shaped body, which ended in long, forked tail. Some of the smaller feathers on its wings had to be ten-feet tall. It used the lower, smallest pair of wings to prop itself up.</p>
<p>In the barn, there had been only two wings. When Cas had postured against Raphael, only two. These were no shadows and thunderclaps, and they numbered far more than two. A memory came to him. "<em>I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be... overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice. But you already knew that. . . .  Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong."</em></p>
<p>It was hard to reconcile this . . . visage with Cas.</p>
<p>Cas had always seemed human, even when he wasn't, when Dean knew he wasn't.</p>
<p>
  <em>"And what visage are you in now, huh? What, holy tax accountant?"</em>
</p>
<p>But . . . it had to be him. </p>
<p>"Cas." Dean reached out and brushed his hand along the nearest wingtip. They didn't feel like feathers. They felt like thousands of threads of heat and prickles, living flames of purity that didn't burn.</p>
<p>The wing shuddered.</p>
<p>A high-pitched hum rang out, and something pinched on his left wrist. The bracelet, he thought, as his fingers seized on the wing, his whole body undergoing some kind shock. A separate memory crackled into his head, like some strange interference ghosting in. </p>
<p><em>The creature of light heaved off the dead demon, and for the first time, in a long time, Dean felt something other than pain and guilt tearing at him. The sight of it locked his legs in place, even as his mind whispered this had to be some trick, to not trust it, to kill it. </em>How? <em>he thought, eyes raking the huge creature.  </em>It's just taken out a demon with its <em>wings</em>.</p>
<p><em>Dean's heart skipped a beat as the creature turned on him.</em> There has to be a weakness, some weakness. <em>It approached Dean, in a movement not unlike a scorpion, with its greatest pair of wing held high overhead and pointing his way. All its feathers were raised like hackles. Its voice was deep and sonorous as it proclaimed, "I have found you, Dean Winchester."</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Dean replied, "Good for you," right before he stabbed the nearest section of feathers.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It froze, and </em>
  <em>its bright "blood" seeped onto him, into him, through him. All thoughts of fight fled as the blood burned him clean. Dean fell to his knees as awareness of this creature seared into his soul. It felt like breaking. "W-what are you?" he managed to gasp out.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"I am the angel Castiel, and my garrison is here to save you."</em>
</p>
<p>The intruding memory fizzled in the background while his current, tuned-in reality played out. He was aware of the sting of the golden, unbroken bracelet on his wrist. He was aware that his fingers had tightened on the fistful of grace-damp feathers, even though Cas tried to retreat. The faint twitch wrenched him off his feet, making him stumble in the landing. Their blood--his soul, Cas's grace--intermingled, and his thoughts went on the fritz. All he could do was feel, and that feeling was overwhelming. The electric awareness of something far bigger, far stranger, so familiar, and yet so unknowable breached upon him.</p>
<p>As it died down, he could hear, vaguely, Cas's voice booming the words: "I have found you, Dean Winchester."</p>
<p>Pride--Cas's pride--vibrated through him.</p>
<p>Then, unlike the old memory, it was followed with, "You should unhand my wing."</p>
<p>It was Dean's turn for a whole-body shudder. It came with a sudden, desperate inhalation. His whole body went nerveless with it. His fingers dropped away. The blade fell from his nerveless fingers for a second time, and the feathers slipped free. A bloody smear marred their brightness as the wing lifted away.</p>
<p>
  <em>My blood.</em>
</p>
<p><em>My blood.  </em>Dean got a hold of himself, grabbing up hunks of scattered senses and thoughts, and jamming them together. To stay shocked in places like this or Purgatory was a death sentence. He had to be fast on his feet.</p>
<p>Cas had always been distracting. But damn, if he wasn't outdoing himself this time.</p>
<p>This time, he had a <em>tail.</em></p>
<p>"Cas--" he croaked out, reaching. The wings slipped further away. <em>Right.</em> <em>Focus</em>. "Cas, it's me. I don't know what this is, but--" Dean wiped at his face. He was surprised to find the gash in his hand, gone, healed. He touched his brow. That was healed too. His skin seemed . . . cleaner. Cleaner than he ever remembered it being down here. "What the hell? Was that you, healing me? Mojoing me clean?" It had never felt like that before.</p>
<p>Or had it? He could never remember this moment in hell. </p>
<p>At least, not until now.</p>
<p>If that was what this was. He had no idea what this was.</p>
<p>"My name is Castiel," Cas said oh-so helpfully, "and the healing was an unintentional, though beneficial, act. Your soul shines brighter now."</p>
<p>Dean blinked at him. Then moved on, quickly. Fast on his feet, after all. "Cas, you know me. You saved me from . . . " He flung out his arms. "This. Eleven years ago. So what is this?"</p>
<p>"We have fought many years of hell-time to reach you, Dean Winchester, but the number is not 11."</p>
<p>Dean scrubbed his face. He seemed so like Cas, but not. More like good soldier Cas. He groaned into his hands. "What is happening here?" </p>
<p>"My garrison has come to save you, Dean Winchester."</p>
<p>No. No, this . . . what was this? None of this made sense. Cas was talking about raising him from hell, as if that still needed to be accomplished. This was done, over. He couldn't be here. They were in the Empty. Cas was supposed to wake up. He wasn't supposed to wake up back here . . .  </p>
<p>"I sense your soul is troubled. Peace, human. You are saved."</p>
<p>Peace? Peace? Dean laughed. "Right. Forget the fact I am losing my mind. Fine. Then let's get on with the saving." Another memory crackled in, echoing this words. Only that Dean had tossed aside the blade and held out his arms. This Dean had nothing to toss aside. He stepped closer under the arch of the retreating wing. The harsh red glare of the place softened under its shielding presence. "I'm ready to go."</p>
<p>The tail twitched cat-like. Cas craned away from as far as it could, and something rippled through the feathers in a pattern too deliberate to be the equivalent of a feline arching its back in protest. It reminded him of the lights on some of the old machines in the bunker, flicking in some pattern as it did it work. Finally the whole body shifted, half turning from him. Dean jumped back before he was knocked off his feet by the tail sluicing through the inches of muck.</p>
<p>"I cannot sense Lahabiel. Where--? I was guarding him."</p>
<p>Guarding? "There was another . . . angel further behind you. It was attacked by a demon? I didn't see it get back up. Oh. There was a thud."</p>
<p>The feathers hackled. "No! I was distracted. I should not have been--" Cas's mourning rolled over him like thunder. "I failed him." His whole form sagged with it.</p>
<p>"Look." Dean seized the nearest dipping wingtip. It flinched, tension in every line. Dean carefully let it go, holding up appeasing hands. "Let's . . . let's work it all out, somewhere away from here."</p>
<p>"Lahabiel is the one appointed to secure you. My role is to lead, fight, and . . . "  The feathers flattened, dulling. "Defend."</p>
<p>An echo from the past slipped through him, with another humming pinch to his wrist. <em>"Look, buddy," that Dean said, "you're the only one here. So let's get on with the rescuing, if you really are what you say you are."</em></p>
<p>Now, this Dean repeated, "You are the only one here."</p>
<p>The form and wings dipped further. "You are right." Then after a beat, he shifted, the tail whipping out, startling Dean. It froze next to him. "Do you permit me to grip you, Dean Winchester?"</p>
<p>
  <em>"Yes, yes, let's just go!"</em>
</p>
<p>"It's just Dean." Dean nodded. "Yes."</p>
<p>The tail wrapped around his midsection, and the wings gave a heavy beat. Dean was knocked flat from their gust one second, and the next he had left his stomach behind him as they ripped through the air.</p>
<p>Even so, he managed to recall a pertinent memory: <em>"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."</em></p>
<p>Apparently, Cas had done so with his tail!</p>
<p>They sailed up through the maw of his chamber, where all the fires blazed, and more than a few specks of smoke in the distance smoldered as they closed in.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've taken some liberties with the hell and its rescue, as well as with angel lore.</p>
<p>I'm not happy with the formatting in this chapter. I'll probably keep it as is for Cas's speaking (though he has no mouth in this form). I think it simplifies it, for now.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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